Breaking Hearts
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: It's like a game of Hearts now. Nothing quite exciting can start until hearts are broken; now he can place most of the rules as the hearts. And rule 51 would be the one to break them all.


**A/N: Hey. It's me again. I know, I'm horrible, I haven't updated "Chasing Her Demons" in forever. But this idea hit me with Rule Number 51. It's going to be a continuing story. This is simply the prologue. Basically, this will be my take on what happens when each rule is broken, one by one, by rule 51 (you're not always right)… Yes, even rule 12. This will be Tony/Ziva centric though. I may do another version that's Abby/McGee centric, Gibbs centric or just the whole team.**

**Just so you know, it's set not too long after the season 7 finale. **

**Reviews are loved. I don't own NCIS or anything here really. So here it goes. Enjoy!**

**BREAKING HEARTS :: PROLOGUE**

He remembers her speaking and he remembers her lips moving and he remembers the look in his boss's eyes. He remembers it all, because it was the day that things truly changed for him. He remembers every detail (at least he says) and he keeps them to himself. He remembers that his knowledge must be kept sacred. He remembers: it's a secret.

An ordinary day for them all; that was what it started as. The sun was quite high in the sky around noon, when the phone call that triggered it all came (he remembers thinking nothing of it then). Abby had called, her words fast and excitable as ever, requesting his presence, as well as that of his boss and partner (he remembers thinking it was the start of everything, later). He'd followed his boss and partner down the elevator and to the lab that he'd known so well. Abby's… Abby's lab.

He remembers the words and he remembers not really paying attention then, his hand playing with his pockets. Still, it's all so significant now that he things he missed everything. He hasn't.

"Gibbs," Abby grins at her boss as she goes on about the evidence, and how it points to so-and-so. He remembers that she'll never know the significance of what she says. It's not the name that begins to lead the destruction of the code he knows. It's when Gibbs says "Maybe it wasn't the wife," and she says, "Maybe you're wrong."

Her hands jump to her mouth, but he's not watching her. He's not watching his partner or the wall or the computer anymore. His gaze is fixed on Gibbs's eyes, the mysterious grey-blue that he knows so well. He remembers seeing a flash of uncertainty mixed with realization in those eyes. He remembers his boss recovering quickly, with a smile and a nod and the words "Maybe you're right."

Sometimes he wonders what it is with them. Father and daughter, at least so it seemed. But that was Gibbs with every agent. (Except Ziva. She'd been different.)

He remembers, later, Gibbs reluctantly agreeing to go to the bar with his agents. He'd watched them go, promising to be quick behind, though he remembers taking a 'slight detour.' Gibbs's house should hold his answers, should it not? (He doesn't think so. Later, he knows it will.)

There's no way he's unprepared for the furniture that greets him – he's seen it before and just smiles as he sneaks into the house. He remembers trying to think like Gibbs and failing, and then he remembers thinking like himself. The place he'd keep a secret – his bedroom, if that didn't sound quite awkward to say. Quietly, he slipped into Gibbs's room and was shocked by the sight.

Boxes. Piles of boxes stacked next to the bed and on it.

There's one in particular that catches his eye. He feels a pull to it and listens to his instinct, grabbing it oh-so-carefully in his clutzy fingers. He remembers pulling the top off and having a picture of Gibbs's wife stare up at him. He remembers the shock and almost dropping the box. But he doesn't. He gulps back his shock and fear and his fingers slide through the many pieces of paper. Then it hits him.

On each slip of paper is a rule. He'd always wanted Gibbs to write these down, and here it was. But it's the first rule that worries him most. It's not number 1 that he picks up, but rather number 51 (he doesn't remember a 51). Somehow, the writing seems new to him, not as old and faded as the writing on the other pages.

He nearly drops the box again as his eyes go over the page so many times. _#51: You're not always right._

What had prompted him to write this? He remembers biting his lip and the realization that the look in Gibbs's eyes had come from this. He remembers putting the box down and leaving, forgetting to put the lid back on the only (not-so-forensic) evidence that he'd been there.

It's like a game of Hearts now. Nothing quite exciting can start until hearts are broken; now he can place most of the rules as the hearts. And rule 51 would be the one to break them all.


End file.
